


Investigations

by deedeeinfj



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Drabble, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-23
Updated: 2018-04-02
Packaged: 2018-04-05 20:44:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 41
Words: 13,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4194279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deedeeinfj/pseuds/deedeeinfj
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>These are drabbles about sexytimes with Phryne and Jack. I tried to think of a more elegant summary, but it is what it is. (Update: as this progresses, not all of these are about sexytimes. However, if you think about it, everything with Phryne and Jack is sexy. So.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Kneel

Phryne judges her lovers on their first reaction when she kneels to pleasure them with her mouth. She doesn’t like being told that she doesn’t have to, as if she doesn’t know that damn well already. As if she, Phryne Fisher, would kneel and put a cock in her mouth if she didn’t want to. A man who is forthright about wanting his cock sucked is a man who truly understands the pleasure of giving pleasure. He is a man who will put himself at the mercy of his lover—even a woman. He is a man who isn’t afraid of losing control of his power or his body. He is a man who is willing to take, to submit to what is freely given. When she kneels and her partner begs her to continue, she aches with desire.

So, the first time she kneels before Jack, her heart sinks a little when he lays a hand on her head and says, “Wait.”

She should have known that he would fall into the gentlemanly, chivalrous category, but still she had hoped—

He continues, though. “Wait. Let me sit,” he says, out of breath, voice hoarse, fingers curling in her hair until it’s almost painful. “I can see you better this way. And I don’t think I’ll be able to keep standing while you do that.”

His smile is sheepish, but the one she flashes in return is devilish, happy, adoring. She doesn’t give him time to beg.


	2. Unlocked

One of the things she hated about monogamy was the way a lover would learn the most efficient way to make her climax and then play her body like a familiar piano tune. Some women liked that, she knew. They loved that their partners knew their bodies so well, had listened for the tumblers and found the combination and knew just how to turn the dial.

Phryne didn't like being solved.

The positions could - and did - change, but the combination? Once they found it, there was no more listening, no more slight turns this way or that. No more suspense. The gift of monogamy!

The only solution was to be discovered anew by every lover, to open each gift without knowing what awaited, and to offer the same thrill to her partner.

But when Jack Robinson's lips moved against the ticklish skin of her hip and said, "I want to learn every way to please you," she wanted to let him.


	3. Equals

She finds herself wondering - with increasing frequency, as it happens - what Jack Robinson's favorite sexual position would be.

Part of her, the part drawn to his silent strength, thinks that he would favor the traditional position. She imagines his eyes, intense, piercing, connected with his partner's as he moves his body with purpose over hers. He would be in control, a true officer, pinning his woman beneath him, perhaps holding her hands over her head. His weight, the force of him, would be about both power and protection.

Phryne imagines herself beneath him, licking sweat from the tense cords of his neck.

Then, too, she believes there is a case to be made for his preferring his lover on top, his hands steadying and supporting her as he watches her. This is Phryne's favorite scenario. This is how Phryne longs to bed him at last: rolling her hips over his, watching him watch her as she gives him the pleasure she knows he has craved as much as she has.

But when she does finally bring him to her bed, she crawls over him, and he sits up, and they make love facing each other. His hold is both power and support, strength and steadiness. His eyes pierce hers with as much intensity as her mind had been able to conjure, but they also wander down to her mouth. He breathes quiet words against her skin. He smiles.

He is everything that she had imagined and nothing that she had imagined.

She licks the sweat from his neck.


	4. Turnabout

He hasn't taken many women to his bed, but he is by no means a monk, either. He was a soldier. He is a man of the modern age. He had been a husband. The first fumbles of youth notwithstanding, he knows how to please a woman. There had been nights - dark and bittersweet memories, now - when Rosie would unfold around him like a flower, beautiful in her pleasure.

For him, the sexual act has always been about doing his best to please his partner and then keeping her as comfortable and happy as possible as he finishes for himself.

But when he stops Phryne's wandering hand on their first night together - he wants her touch desperately, but he hasn't yet seen to her satisfaction, and he only has so much strength - she breathes into his mouth, "Let me make you feel good, Jack."

He opens his mouth to protest.

Inching down, she brushes tender kisses to his jaw. "I've wanted you from the moment I saw you, Jack Robinson," she murmurs. "And now that I finally have my greedy hands and lips on you, you won't let me enjoy it."

She looks up and pouts. Actually pouts.

"Do what you will, Miss Fisher," he says, smiling at her.

That is the first night someone makes love to him.


	5. Senses

She has awakened to the sight of many beautiful men over the course of her life, but nothing equals the satisfaction of waking up next to - in the arms of, more often than not - Jack Robinson. He is a feast for the senses, and she is the glutton.

There is the obvious appreciation of his physical form: strong jaw, wide and sensual mouth, and expressive eyes making up a handsome face; lean muscles stretched over a compact and powerful build; hands that... oh, his hands. She loves the way her pale skin looks against his.

But the world is filled with attractive men. (Only one with his face.)

His clean scent is best in the morning after artificial smells like soap and pomade have faded, leaving only his skin. Sometimes their lovemaking leaves its traces for her to breathe in as she opens her eyes. His sweat and hers. Their mutual exertion and pleasure. 

But many men smell just as enticing. (Almost as enticing.)

His voice, though, rumbling through her skin as his lips explore and tease and kiss! Every word, every growl, every moan, every breath that catches in his throat! When she wakes, his quiet exhalations are the only sound, and they are a soothing comfort - they and the steady thump of his heart beneath her ear.

Manly voices are easy enough to come by. (But none, none like Jack's.)

Then there is the taste of Jack. Whiskey lingering on his tongue. Herself lingering on his tongue. The salt of sweat on his shoulder. The unique flavor of him when he finds his bliss in her mouth. In the morning, she tastes the staleness of sleep on his lips, and she doesn't dislike it.

Perhaps men taste mostly the same. (They don't satisfy.)

Feeling is her favorite way to experience Jack Robinson. His hands on her, her hands on him. The wet traces of his saliva cooling on her breasts, and the tickle of his hair on her belly, and the sandpaper rasp of his stubble on her thighs. The press and pull of his lips, the caress of his tongue, the careful bite of his teeth. His hair in her fingers. The velvet skin of his cock and the hardness beneath it, how he feels inside her. He is solid and still in the morning. Beside her, beneath her, tangled in her.

And no man feels like Jack.


	6. Careful

He is always careful with her clothes.

She is wealthy, of course, and a torn silk would be easily replaced, a lost button or ripped seam repaired by Dot in a matter of minutes. But her clothes are so lovely, such a vivid expression of Phryne herself, that he could never bring himself to destroy so much as a stocking.

Perhaps his working-class upbringing has something to do with it as well, though he hasn't put much thought into it.

But when Phryne's eyes burn into his one night as she whispers, "Tear it, Jack," he does, and she laughs and says, "Yes! Finally."

He is never quite so careful after that - with his heart, with her expensive clothes, with his teeth on the porcelain skin of her thigh.


	7. Attention

She lies partly on top of him, arm and leg slung over him, sweat cooling on their skin as their breathing slows and evens. Her fingertips swirl in an idle circle on his chest as his own perform the same dance on her upper arm.

"Jack," she murmurs, pressing a kiss to his shoulder.

"Mmm," he hums. His arm tightens around her.

"Have you noticed the way I place my fingers between us to help myself along as we make love?"

She knows that he has noticed because he always watches her do it. In truth, it puzzles her that he has never brushed her hand away to do it himself. Her past lovers, to a man, have always done so. Jack has proven attentive in every other way, and she cannot understand what would hold him back in this.

"Yes," he says. "I've never..." He clears his throat. "I've never seen a woman do that. I had always been accustomed to... doing that myself. But seeing you pleasure yourself that way..."

Understanding dawns. She props herself onto her elbow, her mouth curling up. "You enjoy watching me touch myself," she says.

His face colors boyishly - adorably - but his gaze is dark and steady, his voice low. "Yes."

"It seems we find ourselves at a pleasurable impasse, my darling. I want your hands on me, and you want _my_ hands on me." She gives a merry laugh and kisses his mouth briefly before sitting up. "Have you seen a woman do this, Jack?" Keeping her eyes locked on his, she raises her hands to her breasts. She massages them, teases the nipples, moans, "Oh, Jack."

A second later, she is on her back with Jack hovering over her, his new arousal against her thigh as his mouth claims hers like a parched man at a desert oasis. "Don't stop," he mutters, sliding his hand down to join them.

She wouldn't dream of stopping.

He had entered her swiftly, but now he makes love to her slowly, with long, measured thrusts. He reaches between them to touch her, as much an expert on how to please her as she is herself. And how much better his hand - his elegant and skilled fingers - feels than her own! She continues to touch her breasts for him until she cannot bear it any longer, and then she arches her back, offering herself to his all-too-willing mouth.

"Your own touch, Jack," she pants as her hands cling to his shoulders. "This is what I think of, what I want, what I need, when I touch myself."

He groans against her neck. "Phryne..."

"Even before you were mine," she continues, "I touched myself and pretended it was you." She lowers her hand and lays it over his as he works. "Your long fingers. Mmmm, so much better, Jack."

She hears her name again, more desperate this time, and she smiles. She is still smiling when she comes, stroking her fingers through his hair, which is mussed and damp with sweat.

He follows her a moment later, and they find themselves once again tangled together, even more tired and sated than before.

"I still prefer to watch you," he mumbles sleepily against her skin, and she laughs.

"We'll take it in turns, love," she concedes, the endearment slipping off her tongue as easily as breathing.


	8. Studious

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Jen, who gave me the bunny. And this whole obsession to begin with.

"Show me where you read," Phryne says as Jack ushers her into his modest, pleasant home for the first time.

His lips quirk up a little, and she is madly impatient to kiss them, but she decides to bide her time. He nods his head to the left and leads her into a small study lined with makeshift shelves. She can almost hear them groaning under the weight of his books, which are stacked and double-shelved on every surface, including the floor. In one corner is an old-looking, well-worn, brown leather chair.

Reaching for his hand, she leads him to the chair. "Sit down, Jack," she murmurs.

He does so without a word, and she lowers herself into his lap, her knees pressed quite comfortably on either side of him. She drapes her arms around his neck and leans forward to tease his earlobe with her teeth.

"Phryne," he exhales, his hands heavy on her hips. She answers with a hum. "Are you...?"

She strokes the backs of her fingers over his jaw. "Make love to me," she says.

"Here?"

"Yes. And every hour you spend here reading, I want you to think about your body inside mine."

A delicious moan rumbles through him, and his hands slide around from her hips to her bottom, pulling her closer. "What if I already do?" he asks.

She raises an eyebrow and grins. "I thought you were a more studious man, Jack Robinson."

"I am sorry to disappoint you," he smiles.

"On the contrary." She starts working on his belt buckle as she kisses him - a soft, sweet kiss, not at all indicative of how she plans to take him in a few minutes. "On the contrary, my darling."


	9. Laughter

Making love with Jack Robinson has been just as pleasurable and passionate as she imagined, but one of her greatest joys has been the privilege of showing him that it can, and should, be fun.

The first time she brought Jack to her bed, he had been as serious and earnest as a school boy, all intense gazes and somber words. Focus and precision. Her body was, if not a crime scene for him to analyze, at least a complex Shakespearean soliloquy that must be parsed and studied.

But when his tongue had traced her hip bone and she had responded with a shriek of laughter, he had glanced up with a rather hurt expression.

"Tickled," she had offered in explanation, breathless with mirth and arousal. Then, with a devilish grin, she had tickled her fingers down along his ribs, commanding rich, low laughter from him as well.

Now they laugh at every caught cuff, every stumble in the haste to take off shoes, every strand of hair stuck to eager lips and tongues. He tickles her on purpose. She giggles like a girl. They tease each other. They play.

Perhaps her buttoned-up inspector has remembered that the Bard's best love stories were comedies.

"I do love nothing in the world so well as you," she thinks now when she sees his crooked smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Friday! Thanks to YOU, Phrack fandom, not only for your continual encouragement, but for making me laugh! xoxo


	10. Close

Phryne has always preferred intercourse with herself on top. It allows her to feel free and in control of her own pleasure, which has always been quite useful when taking new lovers to her bed. They can enjoy themselves, and she can ensure that she enjoys herself. The traditional position, pinned by her lover to the bed, has its charms, as does any other. But it can be boring. It can make her feel smothered. It can make her feel trapped. If a lover rolls her body underneath his, she almost always manages to find her way back on top. She likes it there.

Jack likes her there, she knows.

But on the occasions when she finds herself looking up at him, she thinks that Jack might have changed her mind about this position. Rather than feeling caged in, she feels warmth and security. She feels close to him. So intimate... and not a trace of fear.

She likes to watch the muscles working in his arms, whether they are flexing, his skin shining with the exertion, or moving slowly, his fingers laced with hers or threaded in her hair.

He kisses her more often and more deeply in this position when they are taking their time. Sometimes, they stop moving altogether as their mouths demand their full attention. She loves having the full attention of Jack's mouth.

It is in this position, making love with slow intensity, their gazes fixed on each other, that Jack says, "I love you," in that low rumble of his that she feels along the entire length of her body. His lips brush hers as he says it.

"I know," she replies, digging her nails harder into his back. "Darling Jack," she whispers. She tightens her leg around his hips and draws him closer. "Dear man," she sighs as he kisses her neck.

"Phryne..."

"Yes, love. Yes."


	11. Rest

She loves sleeping with Jack, which came as no surprise. But she also loves _sleeping_ with Jack.

Some men have irritating traits and habits: loud snoring, kicking or flailing about, holding onto her like a stuffed toy from childhood, sweating profusely… all manner of things.

Jack sleeps still and quiet, as if his body knows that he, of all men, deserves a peaceful slumber. If she curls up close to him, he holds her; otherwise, he might drape a hand, not too heavily, not too possessively, over her hip.

He always falls asleep before she does, nocturnal creature that she is. His breaths are even, a soft metronome by which her mind can stop whirling and be coaxed into rest. Steady and dependable Jack, even in his body’s involuntary workings.

Apart from the late mornings when he wakes her most pleasantly with his mouth or his hands, he never disturbs her when he rises early. If he brushes a kiss to her temple or whispers endearments before he leaves her, she does not know. She likes to imagine that he does.

“‘Thou sleep’st so sound,’” she whispers, stroking his hair with her fingers. “‘Enjoy the honey-heavy dew of slumber.’”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this isn't quite a smutlet (as I affectionately call them). But it's... in bed?


	12. Back-up

"We are not animals, Jack, we are husband and wife!"

That had been Rosie's reaction on the one occasion that Jack expressed interest in trying a particular new sexual position. He had never been with any other woman for more than a few encounters, none of which ventured into exploration past the usual. 

Jack had wondered, in those idle moments when he indulged his improper fantasies about Phryne Fisher, if she would ever allow a lover to take her in that way - from behind. She was a forward-thinking woman, to be sure, many miles ahead of himself. But was Rosie right about the degrading nature of the position? Perhaps a woman like Phryne would find the idea even more offensive, not less, for a man to use her thus.

His uncertainty held him back, therefore, when Phryne asked softly one night, "Anything you'd like to try, Jack?" Her eyes searched his for a moment. "You can tell me."

He decided to distract her by lowering his mouth to her breast.

She sighed, sliding her fingers through his hair. "Darling, that's lovely, but I know when someone is avoiding a question." She laughed, at least until her breath caught, as he wandered down, undeterred. "Ja-ack," she sing-songed. She tugged at his shoulders.

"Are you bored with me already?" he asked. He had meant to tease, but he realized halfway through the question that part of him was truly concerned about the answer.

In answer, she pushed him over and straddled his hips, pinning each of his shoulders down with her hands. "I know there must be things you want to try. I won't judge you or laugh at you. Tell me."

"Rosie was offended when I suggested it to her."

Phryne leaned forward, resting the full weight of her torso against his, and kissed him. "Tell me, Jack," she murmured. She pulled his bottom lip between her teeth. "If you tell me, I'll do it for you."

He ran his fingers lightly down the smooth, petal-soft skin of her back. "You don't even know what it is," he said.

"But I know _you_. I trust you. And I want you to trust me."

Jack turned his head to the side, then looked back up at her. "You..." he said slowly, "on your knees. And I would be behind you."

"Mmmm, yes. I like this already. And?"

"That... Well, that's it." He felt suddenly very foolish.

"Oh. That's a--"

Jack quickly pressed his fingers to her lips. "Please don't ask me if that's all."

"But Rosie wouldn't..." She allowed her question to trail off. Sitting up, she moved off of him and placed herself on all fours, her elbows and forearms resting on the pillows.

Jack took his place behind her, his body already responding - enthusiastically so. He ran both palms down her back and then up again, smoothing them over her shoulders and down her arms before reaching around to cup her breasts.

She moaned and actually wiggled her bottom against his groin. "Yes, Jack, please," she said. Her "please" ended in a gasp as he slid one hand down to her soft heat, still ready for him after the evening's previous activities.

With great care, he guided himself inside her. "Phryne," he exhaled, shaky and overcome like a teenaged virgin.

"I love this position," she said, laying her hand over his between her legs. "Want to know a secret? Most women do." She moaned as he slid out slowly and pushed back in. "The way your cock touches that place inside... ah, Jack, yes. There... oh, don't stop, never stop, darling..."

Her words were even more arousing than the act itself, if such a thing could be possible.

Later, she asked him two questions.

First: "Did you like it?"

He did, though he missed seeing her face, and he told her so. And she pointed out the mirror, smiled, and said, "Next time."

Second: "What else have you imagined?"

He asked her if she still had their Antony and Cleopatra costumes.


	13. Pleasure

Phryne has always loved the pleasures of sex. Her body craves the physical satisfaction, the build and release, the power and freedom. Her lovers give her pleasure, and she enjoys returning the favor.

But it's different with Jack Robinson. (How is everything different with Jack?)

Something about that dear, buttoned-up, frustratingly noble man makes her want to lavish on him every pleasure the world can provide. Her own pleasure, magnificent as it never fails to be in his care, seems incidental - a product, even, of making him feel good.

If he weren't so damned set on making _her_ feel good, she might be able to accomplish more.

It must be the same for him as it is for her: a thrill, a rapturous thrill, to raise gooseflesh on beloved skin, to make hungered-for lips swell with kisses, to hear a most precious voice in that rarest of songs, to watch pure bliss overcome a cherished face.

To make him happy.

To give him love.

To love him.

That, she realizes - and accepts with surprising ease - is how everything is different with Jack.

They are going over witness statements in his office one evening when she says lightly, "Would it be unprofessional for me to tell you that I love you, Detective Inspector?"

She doesn't look up, doesn't indulge her desire to see his face.

"It would, Miss Fisher," he replies after a pause. "But I've been off duty for the last five minutes, Phryne."

Her eyes meet his, and a smile like she has never seen on his face before poses a very real threat of stopping her heart. Nothing she has ever done or could ever do with his naked body would make him feel that good - and the pleasure is all hers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this one ended up being a flufflet instead of a smutlet because 1) it's Friday and 2) that photo of Nathan Page smiling DID THINGS TO ME.


	14. Beautiful

Jack Robinson knew that he was generally considered to be a handsome man. He was not vain, but he was intelligent and good at reading people, and he would have been a poor investigator if he had failed to notice over the years that women looked at him favorably. Some men did, too, on occasion. This was an aspect of his physical appearance that he filed away as having just as much relevance to his daily life as his height and hair color. He was another handsome man.

"How handsome you are, Jack," Rosie used to say in the old days.

He knew that Phryne had found him handsome from the start. And, from her many insinuations over the course of their partnership, he knew that she was physically attracted to him. But Phryne came to be different from the others who found him aesthetically pleasing. She didn't only admire him, didn't only desire him.

She _wanted_ him.

She wanted _him_.

"I love when you smile," she had told him one night in her bed, pressing her thumb to his mouth.

"Your eyes," she had said another time, rocking her body against his, their faces almost touching. That was all: "your eyes."

A handsome man would have neat hair, but Phryne sighed, "How I love your hair, Jack," moments after carding through it with her fingers until he felt the errant curls on his forehead.

She loved his voice and loved his mouth, and she told him often. Sometimes his mouth was between her thighs, and sometimes he was reading to her. Once, he had been going over an autopsy report.

Phryne loved his body because he was in it.

So well did he know this, even before they were lovers, that on the first night he stood naked before her, there was no trepidation, no anxiety about whether the sight of him would please her.

"How beautiful you are, Jack," she had said, her palm over his heart.


	15. Vulgar

"You are so lovely," Jack murmurs in that low voice of his, tucking her hair behind her ear with his fingers as he kisses his way down her neck.

Phryne smiles and pulls him closer to her. They are still just inside her door, through which he had entered, tossed his hat on a hook, and drawn her into his arms. She slides her hands, which she had slipped inside his coat, up his back, enjoying the solid warmth of him even through his suit.

"And what do you plan to do with me, Inspector?" she simpers.

"Make love to you, for a start," he mumbles against her bare shoulder.

She wets her lips and tightens her hands on him. His words, enticing as they are ( _Jack_ as they are), have reminded her of something she desperately wants from him. But it might require a certain delicacy on her part to get it... She licks her lips again.

"Jack, will you do something for me?"

"Is it legal?"

"Must you ask?"

"Always." He lifts his head to look at her, and she grins back at him. "What is it?" he asks, eyes narrowed.

"Will you talk to me tonight with the most vulgar language you can think of?"

Jack blinks. She waits.

Finally, he says, "Why?"

"Because," she replies, tracing the curves of his upper lip with her finger, "I want to see this beautiful, elegant mouth form the ugliest words imaginable. I want to hear those words spoken by your rich, deep, sensuous" -- she draws that word out like it's a piece of chocolate on her tongue -- "voice."

"I don't understand. You want me to say... ugly things to you?"

"Only intentions and actions make the words ugly," she says. She pauses, thinking. "Say them as if you're reciting Shakespeare. Only replace the polite, poetic words with the vulgar ones."

"Phryne, I don't know."

"Jack Robinson, if you don't plan to fuck me tonight, then don't waste any more of my time." Her eyebrow arches over her glittering eyes. An example. A challenge.

She watches him swallow. She can almost hear the gears in his head processing her words.

Then he backs her against the door, one hand on either side of her head. "I'll fuck you," he says slowly, his voice so rough and dangerous that it makes her hair stand on end with anticipation, "but only after I clean out your cunt with my tongue."

Her jaw falls slack with a heady mixture of arousal and shock. Thoroughly pleased shock. Then she smiles. "I adore you, Jack," she says softly, touching his face. "Now, put that filthy mouth on me."


	16. Marked

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From a prompt requested by crazycatschickenlady and gaslightgallows. It's the first line, in bold. =)

" **You heard me. Take. It. Off.** "

Detective Inspector Jack Robinson stared at The Honourable Miss Phryne Fisher, who was holding her fur stole tightly at the neck. She batted her eyelashes at him. He clenched his jaw. She smiled. He swallowed.

"But it's so chilly in here, Inspector."

"Please, Phryne," he said softly, eyes glancing at the door to make sure they were alone. "Please let me see."

"Very well. Since you're an officer of the law."

Watching his face, she slowly shifted her fur back from her throat and tilted her head a little to one side. There on her skin, which was otherwise as pale and smooth as an expensive porcelain doll's, was the mark he had left on her the night before.

"Do you want to know how I got this?" she asked.

"It looks like a man put his mouth on your skin and kissed and sucked it until these small vessels--" He grazed the purplish bruise with his knuckle. "--broke."

"And what was his motive, do you suppose?"

"You asked him to," he breathed.

Phryne smiled and readjusted her stole. "Later, I want to see the one I gave you," she said with a quick glance down his body. "Enjoy your lunch, Jack."


	17. Zipper

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from slimwhistler and gaslightgallows, first line in bold. =)

“ **You need to wake up because I can’t do this without you.** ” Phryne leaned over the bed and shook Jack’s shoulder. “Jack!”

He made an inarticulate sound and dragged his hand over his eyes, pinching at the inner corners. “What time is it?”

“Close to midnight.”

“Phryne,” he groaned.

“I’m sorry, darling,” she said. “I truly am. But Dot is still visiting her--”

“I know.”

He swung his legs out of bed and walked over to her with a yawn. He twirled his finger in the air, and she spun around to reveal the elegant line of her bare back: a beautiful, elongated V framed by the edges of her sparkling black gown. Jack closed the material over her skin and slowly drew up the zipper before hooking the tiny clasp at the top.

“Enjoy yourself,” he said, pressing a kiss to her ear. “But don’t forget the interview with Mrs. Carson at two.”

She turned in his arms. “I haven’t forgotten. I’ll be there. In fact, I’ll be here when you wake up.” She laughed. “Not awake, but here.”

He smiled. “Perhaps I’ll take my revenge by waking you.”

“Don’t you dare, Jack Robinson.”

“You might like it,” he said, rich and low.

“I know I would.” She kissed him, then narrowed her eyes at him. “But don’t do it.”

He reached to slide a hand down her thigh and was satisfied when he felt her knife. Her pistol was safely stowed elsewhere, he had no doubt. “Stay out of trouble,” he said sternly.

She grinned. “If trouble finds me, I know the man to call.”

“That’s why I said to stay out of it. I need sleep.”

Phryne led him back to bed and saw him safely tucked in. “I love you madly,” she whispered, stroking his hair back from his forehead. “Sleep well, my noble Detective Inspector.”


	18. Curiosity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from gaslightgallows, first line in bold. =)

"' **Kiss me.** ' That's all I said. And she did."

Jack tried to keep his fingertips moving in a steady pattern over Phryne's bare shoulder. Tried not to let her see the effect her story was having on him so far. She lay in his arms, her breath warm on his chest, her eyelashes tickling his skin. He had asked her to tell him something about herself that he didn't know yet. He had imagined a childhood prank or some other amusing tale. He had not predicted that the story would be about kissing Dr. MacMillan.

"Did you like it?" he asked.

"I did. Her lips were soft, as women's are, but she was assertive and demanding in a way that you tend to find more in men." He heard her sigh at the memory. "It was a lovely kiss, Jack. Then, when it ended, I asked her if it had been what she expected. I was the first woman she had ever kissed, too, you see."

Jack had long since given up trying to caress her shoulder. He had also given up any hope of not becoming aroused. He licked his lips. "I can only assume that the trial went well."

"Yes," Phryne laughed. "I would have made love to her if she had asked. I know she wanted to try it, and I was curious. But perhaps it was wiser not to. A friendship can only withstand so much."

"Ours withstood it," he pointed out.

"But I didn't make love with you out of idle curiosity." She propped herself up on her elbow. "And I knew that I wouldn't be creating feelings in you that weren't already there." She traced her finger down the line of his jaw.

"Are you... still curious?"

"Of course. I'm like a cat in that way." Her hand glided down over his stomach to meet his cock. "Why, Jack? Do you like the idea of a woman touching me?" She circled his tip with her thumb. "Putting her mouth on me?"

He rolled her onto her back. "Only if I could watch," he said.

Phryne grinned and caught her lower lip between her teeth. "I'll need every one of my nine lives to satisfy my curiosity about _you_ , Jack Robinson."


	19. Awkward

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For gaslightgallows. Prompt: "Well, this is awkward..." I'm not going to use the actual quote in this one. It'll just be... awkward. Also, I'm sorry?

"Jack?" Phryne sighed, drifting into consciousness as he kissed his way down her belly. "Darling, that's... mmmm... lovely... but..."

He paused. "Not this morning?"

"I suppose that's up to you, really," she replied as he crawled up until they were face-to-face. She smiled. "It's my time for Eve's curse, you see."

"Eve's... oh. Oh." He stroked her hair. "Do you feel ill? Rosie had a great deal of pain sometimes."

She pressed her palm to his cheek. "Not at all, sweet."

"We never... That is, she never..."

"She wasn't comfortable being intimate with you during those times," Phryne supplied to spare him, and he nodded. "Some of us are, and some of us aren't. I don't mind it, but I don't seek out lovers because one never knows how a man will react. You are such timid creatures. It's been a long time since I was with a man regularly enough for it to matter."

"It wouldn't hurt you, though."

"Not at all."

She forced herself to keep a straight face. He _was_ being lovely about it, and men who weren't in the medical profession were generally as ignorant as babes about the more mysterious workings of their wives' and lovers' bodies.

Jack looked thoughtful for a moment, and then he slid his hand down between them and into her knickers. "Yes, all is well here," he murmured into her ear before drawing the lobe into his mouth with his tongue.

Her laugh was cut off by a sharp gasp.

For all the talk about modern women, there was something to be said for modern men as well.


	20. Punctilious

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A "500 Words" drabble for Fire_Sign. I chose #392:
> 
> punctilious  
> adjective  
> showing great attention to detail or correct behavior.

Jack made every effort to sip his wine and keep his face composed and pretend that the sight of Phryne conversing exclusively with a handsome young man did not bother him in the slightest. He had allowed her to drag him to this event, dressed to the nines, and now she seemed to have no time for him at all, apart from the occasional glance at him across the room.

"Inspector," came Bert's voice at his side, "Miss Fisher sent me to ask you if you want to leave early. She said, 'Tell the Inspector that I would not object, if you know what I mean.'"

Jack drained his glass and set it on a passing tray. "I do want to leave, as it happens. I'll meet you at the door."

"Right. I'll tell Miss Fisher."

"No, no," Jack said, fighting the temptation to look at her. "Don't disturb Miss Fisher. You can return for her later."

He said nothing on the drive away from Prudence Stanley's besides telling Bert to take him home instead of to Phryne's house.

He had no right to be angry. He knew that. Phryne had given him no promises, and he had asked for none. But he had managed to convince himself, somehow, that what they had was more than this. More than deserting him and picking up another man right in front of him. More than asking him, in so many words, to remove himself.

* * *

"Is the Inspector in his office?" Phryne demanded, hardly waiting for an answer as she swept past Hugh and into the office in question.

"Ah, Miss Fisher," said that infuriating man without looking up.

"What has gotten into you, Jack? You left me alone last night without a word, and tonight you cancel our dinner plans? I believe I deserve an explanation at the very least!"

Jack frowned and set aside his paperwork. " _I_ left you alone last night? Is that what it was?"

"Isn't it?" she volleyed back, crossing her arms.

"You would have had me stay, then." He leaned back in his chair and cocked his head. "Stay and watch _you_ leave without _me_."

"What?"

"Phryne, you spent the evening with another man and asked me to leave. Or did you enjoy one too many sherries?"

She walked around his desk and sat on the edge. She could be angry with him, or she could enjoy the humor in the situation. The latter agreed with her much more. "Jack, darling," she said slowly, drawing out the endearment, "I believe what you saw was an obnoxious and desperate young man who monopolized me and thwarted my attempts to escape by virtue of his being an Important Person in the eyes of my aunt. My partner did not rescue me on this occasion, even when I sent a hint that we could escape early. Together."

"But..." He thought, shook his head, thought some more. Phryne only smiled. "Christ, Phryne. I've been an ass. I'm sorry."

With an imperious look at him down her nose, she rose and made to leave the room, ignoring his protests. But her mission was to lock his door - which she did.

She returned to him and slid into his lap. "If I had gone home with that man, Jack, would that have been the end of--" She motioned between them. "--Us?"

"No."

"But you canceled our supper."

"I was angry at the way you did it. The way I thought you did it. But you would have broken no promise."

"No," she said. She loosened his tie, loving the feel of his throat bobbing against her fingers. "Jack, I know your feelings about these matters. And I knew them the first time we kissed. The first time we made love. I went into this having made the decision to be with you - only you - for as long as we were together."

"I didn't ask that of you, Phryne."

"That's why the decision was so easy, sweet." She kissed him as she pulled his tie from his collar. "Oh, the things I wanted to do with you last night," she breathed. "You looked delicious, Jack. I had my eyes on you almost every minute. Didn't you notice?"

"I thought... To hell with what I thought."

She laughed. "Mmm. Well, I have you now."

"I want to," he groaned as she shifted her hips against him, "but I can't. Not here."

"Don't be so..." She teased his upper lip with her tongue. " **Punctilious**."

* * *

"You _will_ be at supper later, won't you, darling?" she asked a little while later as she adjusted her hat.

"Without a doubt, Miss Fisher. Without a doubt."


	21. Wish

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For gaslightgallows. Prompt: "Make a wish and toss a penny to the moon."

"Ah!"

At Phryne's sudden exclamation, Jack stopped and reached for his gun with practiced agility. But her sound was one of delight, and he watched her bend to pick up a shiny coin at their feet.

She straightened and turned her face to the sky, where a perfectly full moon shone down on them. Phryne held the coin close to her lips as they moved with some unspoken words, then tossed it up with a gleeful cry. As if nothing had happened, she threaded her arm back into his.

"What was that?" he asked, utterly bemused.

"If you find a coin at the full moon, you make a wish and return it to her."

"I've always heard that you turn a coin in your pocket."

"This was our own little myth - mine and Janey's," she explained. Her fingers tightened on his arm.

Jack stopped again, this time curling her into him with his arm at her back. He cupped her head in his hand and kissed her, unable to help himself.

"And that," she said, smiling at him with shining eyes, "is the first time it's ever worked."


	22. Power

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Friday smut/fluff. *shrug*

"My favorite part of you?" Jack repeated. He considered for a moment, then slid his knuckles down the side of her throat. "Your neck," he said. "It's so elegant, and somehow it looks both strong and fragile. And when I kiss it..." He demonstrated, and Phryne gave a soft, shivering sigh. "...You do that. You cannot know how many times I wanted to reach out and touch you here."

"I can know, darling, because I wanted you to do it." She covered his hand with hers and tilted her head to kiss him. "' _Item, one neck, one chin, and so forth_ ,'" she quoted, smiling. "Would you like to know my favorite part of you, my beautiful Jack?"

"Tell me."

"At first, I confess, it was your jaw. So set and hard and disapproving when I first laid eyes on you!"

"You were disturbing my crime scene," he said, palming one breast as he kissed the other.

"I wanted to lick it. I always want to lick your jaw, Jack." She curled her fingers in his hair. "Especially when you're being disagreeable." She tugged on his hair to lift up his chin, which she scraped between her teeth.

"My jaw... you said 'at first.' You came to change your mind?"

"Mmmm," she hummed as he returned to her breasts. "I did. Because my favorite part, you see, is rarely on display. I could not know it was my favorite until I got to see it."

He laughed. "You are teasing me, trying to make me think one thing when it's quite another. I am sure of it."

With a grin, Phryne pushed him over and straddled his legs. She ran her hands up his thighs. "This is my favorite part of you," she said. "These thighs that I first glimpsed at Queenscliff. I have never seen their equal."

"Now you _are_ teasing me."

"Not at all. They are thick and muscular and strong. I like to watch them when you thrust into me."

"Phryne..."

"I like to run my hands over them when I put my mouth on you." She leaned over him, allowing her lips to graze his soft skin. "I can feel the muscles moving under your skin... feel the power in them as you submit to my power over you."

He reached for her hands and pulled her up his body until her face was just above his. Cupping the nape of her neck in one hand, he held her tightly against himself with the other. "You have every power over me," he said.

"And you over me," she replied, her voice soft. A smile crept over her lips. "Only use it for good, Jack Robinson." He rolled them over and guided himself inside her, kissing her neck as she arched up beneath him. "Yes," she breathed out. "Like that."


	23. Pavlova

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is quite possibly the most pointless thing I've ever written. Like, really, it has no point. No plot. No nothing. I just had to write something because my muse abandoned me and I haven't written in ages. And it doesn't even really fit with "Investigations." I just stuck it here because it wasn't enough to be a story.

"Do you miss it?" he asked, his lips just next to her ear. He smiled at the sight of gooseflesh rising on her bare shoulder. That his voice could affect her so much, even months after they'd become lovers, never failed to thrill and surprise him.

Phryne turned to him, her eyes lingering on his mouth before she slid them up to meet his gaze. "What?"

"You must have noticed that Lord Stanton has been watching you all evening," he said with genuine good humour. "Do you miss conquering every handsome man in Melbourne?"

She took a sip of her brandy and looked back at the young man in question. "A little," she replied. "It was great fun. Exciting." After a pause, she added, "But I amuse myself in other ways now."

"Tell me."

"Since I already know which man I'm taking home... know his body so well... know what he likes... know what I like to have him do to me..." She spoke slowly, keeping her expression neutral as she continued to watch the other people at the party.

Jack slid the back of his index finger down her arm. "Yes," he said in a low voice, "you do know all those things. And?"

"I can use my time to imagine quite specific things that I want to do when I have him to myself, which is by far my favorite way to have him."

Across the room from them, Lord Stanton glanced at Phryne for what must have been the hundredth time by Jack's estimation, nodded his head in acknowledgment, and blushed.

"And what are you imagining on this particular night, Miss Fisher?" he asked.

She angled her body to face his and tasted her drink again. "Mmmm," she murmured. "Earlier, I was thinking that we'd go to your house, and you would take me fast and hard against your door, driven to desperation by how much you had enjoyed looking at me in this dress all evening."

"I have enjoyed it, as it happens, but I've not been driven to desperation just yet."

"No matter," she said lightly with a wave of her free hand. "That was what I imagined earlier. I've since changed my mind."

"Yes?"

"Yes. I want you in my bed tonight, and I want to take my time."

"What..." He took a moment to clear his throat. "What made you change your mind?"

"The dessert."

"The dessert," he repeated. Pavlova made her want to make passionate love to him?

"I dispensed with mine very quickly, but you! You were taking your time, savoring each bite. I watched you. And that's when I realized that I wanted to enjoy you the way you were enjoying that meringue. I had to cross my legs under the table."

He exhaled shakily. "Phryne."

"I've been thinking about my tongue on your skin ever since. This is my second brandy."

"I think you might be defeating your purpose by driving me to desperation after all, Miss Fisher."

She laughed. "Take a moment to recover while I converse politely with Lord Stanton." She reached up to straighten his tie. "He's a homosexual, by the way. And looking at _you_ , my darling."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't look at me like that! I did warn you!


	24. Hideaway

The evening's dress cast aside, her face cool and clean after washing, she slides into her bed and wraps her arm around the man sleeping there, curling her body against his. He lies on his back, so she presses her face into the warmth of his neck. She takes a deep, slow breath of him and closes her eyes, smiling.

A hoarse rumble breaks the silence: "Your lashes tickle."

"You smell good," she replies. She kisses the pulse in his neck.

His fingers come up to stroke her shoulder and down her arm. "Is it that unusual?"

"Shhh. Go back to sleep."

"Is it very late or very early?"

"Too late for you to be awake, and too early for me to be awake."

"Ah," he says, a short, soft huff of a laugh. He turns his head to kiss her forehead, and his breath evens back into sleep not long after.

"Mmmm, Jack," she mumbles into the quiet. "My Jack."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ....... I don't know. It's... something? Sorry.


	25. Dear

Phryne breezed into the kitchen and smiled at the sight of Jack drinking coffee and reading her newspaper. She ran her fingers up into the hair at his nape. "Good morning," she said, followed by a brief kiss at his temple.

With a rumble of appreciation, he slid his arm around her waist and drew her around and closer. "Just in time. I was wondering what to have for breakfast, and you'll do nicely."

She laughed and bent to kiss his mouth. "In that case..." She reached for his toast, a maneuver he quickly blocked. "Darling," she murmured, easing into his lap. She tried to push his hand aside, to no avail. "Dear man. My sweet Jack."

"Terms of endearment will get you nowhere near my toast," he smiled. They kissed again, the toast forgotten by both sides.

"It occurs to me," she said, looking thoughtful as her thumb traced his lower lip, "that I call you 'darling' and the like all the time, but you have no term of endearment for me."

"But I do." His mouth quirked to the side, and his eyes were soft as he leaned forward to kiss her neck. "I do, Miss Fisher."


	26. Joy

"Mmmm, Jack, I love when you do that," Phryne sighed, tightening the leg she had wrapped around his thighs.

"Tickle you?" he asked. He smiled and danced his fingers again on the dipping curves of her waist.

She used both arms to pull him down closer, and his hands and hips both faltered in their movements. "Laugh," she said. She slid her fingers up into his mussed hair. "I love when you laugh."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry... I know this is so short it's not even worth clicking in to read. But I just wanted to write it, so I indulged myself. :P


	27. Coda

Phryne breathed in deeply and smiled up at her ceiling as she held Jack's still-trembling body close to hers. Her hand smoothed down his back, and her fingers, lightly scratching, made the return journey up to his shoulders.

"That was divine, Jack," she sighed.

He lifted his head from the curve of her neck. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to finish so fast. You didn't even..." He shifted his weight to the side and reached between them.

"Don't," she said, stopping his hand.

"No?" He frowned. "But--"

"I'm tired and a little sore and not even close." A look of immense hurt took over his dear face, and she touched his cheek. "It's nothing to do with you. Sometimes it just doesn't happen. It doesn't mean I didn't enjoy it." She smiled at him. "I believe I already made perfectly clear that I did."

Jack rolled fully onto his back and scrubbed his face with his hands. "I hate the idea of... not pleasing you," he said.

"Did I seem displeased for one second? Do I seem displeased now?" She captured his legs under one of hers and curled closer to him. "If a member of the orchestra forgets the cymbal crash at the end, does that mean the entire symphony wasn't any good? Besides, my pleasure is just as much in my hands as it is yours, and I saw no need to intervene, as it were."

He turned his head on the pillow and his small, unwilling smile was her victory. "A symphony, was it?" he said.

"Mmmm. I loved every movement. Especially the allegro."

One of his fingers stroked her hip. "But I love seeing you come apart in my arms," he said softly.

"I come apart every time you look at me, Jack Robinson," she replied. Her eyelids were heavy, and she allowed them to close as she nestled her body even closer to his. "Wake me in the morning with your mouth on me, and I'll sing for you."


	28. Common

Ever since he first told her to call him Jack, she has loved saying his name. The shape of it on her lips. The feel of it in her mouth. The "J" that brings her tongue into play, the flat vowel that works so well with a smile, and the decisive click of the "k" at the end are all gratifying in a way she can't explain.

"Hello, Jack!" in grinning welcome.

" _Please_ , Jack!" in desperate supplication.

Sentences feel incomplete without his name, whether she's shouting it across a bar brawl or murmuring it like a prayer against his naked skin. Even if he's the only other person in the room, the only person she could possibly be addressing. "What do you think, Jack?" she'll ask as she hovers on her corner of his desk on a late evening when all the other station lights are out.

"Jack" is such a common name, but for her it means only this man. This Jack among millions of others. This rare thing: Jack Robinson.

In contrast to the way she uses his name, spending it in conversation like the prodigal woman she is, Jack holds her own name close to his chest like a precious stone. He guards it, but he also knows that gems should sometimes be brought out to flash in the light.

"Jack... yes, Jack..." she chants, letting him hear his name on her tongue over and over. Giving herself the pleasure of saying it.

"Phryne," he whispers once - just for her.


	29. Naked

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sure you all know [what inspired this one](https://youtu.be/Ee3yW-shc7c). Also, happy Phrack Fucking Friday. :D

Phryne loves to undress Jack. It's like unwrapping a present at Christmas, and often she does resemble a child handed a gift, haphazardly tearing at the layers and tossing them aside as the obstacles they are. _I want your skin, I want your skin!_ her inner voice demands.

Her own clothes are light and airy, but Jack's clothes are so very heavy and confining. Undressing him feels like freeing him. While her clothes float down, his hit the floor quite decidedly. She likes that sound, the sound of weight falling away from him. _Not so much ballast now, my darling._

Sliding off his tie, she is always reminded of her Roman soldier, her single pillar, and she stares at his throat just as she did that night. Unlike that night, though, now she can lick the notch there and scrape his Adam's apple with her teeth.

She likes pushing aside his braces and curving her palms around the smooth skin of his well-muscled shoulders.

As much as she enjoys undressing Jack, there is also something to be said for watching him do it himself. He doesn't toss his clothes everywhere. He smooths them, straightens them, hangs them. When he knows she's watching, he does all of this slowly for her benefit, his long fingers working at his tie or buttons. He watches her watch. Sometimes he smiles at her, knowing and boyish, and he ruins the prospect of her ever wanting another person this way.

She doesn't mind that at all.


	30. Honour

Jack heard her cheery "Good morning, Hugh!" so he was already looking up when she swung open his door, and he had her in his arms before she could flounce her way to the chair. Or to the edge of his desk. Whatever destination to which she had been flouncing.

He held her body close to his with one hand and used the other to, first, push the door shut and, second, to cup her bottom and pull her closer still as he kissed her fiercely. If her eager mouth and happy sighs hadn't been enough to let him know that she was more than pleased with his greeting, her wicked smile and hungry eyes when they parted could have left him in no doubt.

"Jack," she said, breathless. She bumped her pelvis against his for good measure. "After last night and this morning, I thought perhaps you had gotten your fill until lunch time, at least."

He trailed his finger along the neckline of her blouse: dark, patterned with clusters of small, white flowers. "You wore this when we - when _you_ \- found the aconite powder in that book. I desperately wanted to kiss you, and I couldn't." He touched her hair, rubbing strands of it between his thumb and forefinger. "Today, I could."

"That was the night you told me about your wife."

"I was telling myself, perhaps, even more than I was telling you."

"A man of honour," she murmured. She straightened his tie, which was, in fact, crooked on this occasion. "What a joy to find a man of honour who also knows how to use his tongue." She grinned. "When you blush like that, Jack, it makes me want to eat you alive."

He cleared his throat and stepped back from her. "You came here with something to discuss, Miss Fisher?" he asked, motioning to the chair.

She followed him to his side of the desk and perched on the edge as he took his seat. "I did, Inspector. But you have to promise me that when we finish with business, you'll tell me what else I can wear when I want to be ravished the moment I walk in the door."

"So you can refrain from wearing those things when you visit me at the station."

"Of course."


	31. Concentration

One of the best things, she decides, about taking a lover who is also a talented detective is that she almost never has to tell him what to do. She never has to say, "Harder!" or pant, "Faster!" or gasp, "Wait!" (Sometimes, she does say those things because they arouse him.)

Jack knows how her eyelids flutter and her pupils dilate and her muscles contract. The pressure of her fingertips. How her teeth sink into her bottom lip. How her breath quickens or catches. She suspects that even if every other sense were taken away, Jack would know her by touch alone.

Not only does he know, but he pays attention, never allowing his own pleasure to distract him from ensuring hers. And she does try to distract him - she does! Stubborn, single-minded man.

This is why she loves taking his cock in her mouth. It's only for him, and he can let go of everything else. Phryne demands it.

After she finishes him, she stands or she crawls her way back up his body, and she kisses him until he recovers, and then she tells him what she wants.

And he gives it to her.

(Sometimes, she suspects that he knew before she said it.)


	32. Distraction

Phryne can't remember if any man but Jack has ever read in her bed. Rene didn't. Her lovers came and went, and reading wasn't on anyone's mind; it wasn't on Jack's mind, either, at first.

She smiles.

She closes her bedroom door quietly and stands there for a moment to watch him. He is bare-chested, and she can tell that his legs are crossed at the ankles under the doona. His elbows rest comfortably at his sides, and he holds the book in both hands as his eyes follow the text. When he looks up to see her watching him, he smiles a little and raises an eyebrow in question.

"Just observing," she says. "Don't let me distract you."

Jack snaps the book shut without marking his place and sets it aside. "Maybe I want to be distracted."

Grinning, she pushes herself off from the door and climbs onto his lap, her dressing gown falling open around her bare legs. He slides his hands up her thighs and hums in appreciation.

She smooths her hands over his chest. "Not a good book?" she asks.

"Terrible."

She glances to the side and laughs. " _Macbeth_."

"Needs work," he mumbles against her neck as her eyes flutter closed.


	33. Grace

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This vignette takes place shortly after [Strong Toil of Grace](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12349593) because it's been a lousy six days, and I wanted to write something fluffy and smutty, and Jack deserves to be happy after what I put him through in that story.

They had been back in Melbourne for only a few weeks, but they were already falling back into the comforts of their old routines - with the one pleasurable exception of making love at every opportunity. Jack was every bit the passionate lover Phryne had hoped he would be, and she delighted in him.

"I've wanted you all day," she said, pinning him to the just-closed door of his house.

He laughed as he pulled her hips against his. "It's only just past noon."

"'Sad hours seem long,'" she countered. He was informally dressed on this quiet Sunday afternoon, and she busied her mouth with kissing him while her hands attacked his clothing.

"Bed," she heard him say.

"Yes," she replied, her mouth still on his nipple.

By the time they reached his bed, they were both naked, and a trail of clothes, underthings, and shoes lay in their wake. Phryne pushed him down and climbed over him, greedy for him and hardly caring that he knew just how much. No, she wanted him to know. She needed him to know.

She reached for his cock and stroked the hard length of it as she licked and nipped his jaw. Every sound he made pulsed through her body like a direct touch. She loved the sound of Jack's pleasure.

"Phryne..."

"Yes, darling, yes."

"Phryne," he said again.

His fingers circled her wrist and drew her hand up from his cock and to his mouth. He brushed his lips over her palm. She stilled in his arms and watched him. She knew Jack liked it slow, but couldn't he tell how desperate she was today?

"I want your mouth," he said, low-pitched and soft.

Her gaze flew up from his lips to his eyes. Their usual blue was swallowed up in his arousal, but their expression was open and vulnerable. Phryne had not tried to take him in her mouth since he had expressed his obvious discomfort with the act after the Nichols case; she hadn't so much as kissed him there. She had begun to wonder if she should simply try it again rather than waiting for him to give her some sign that he wanted it. Perhaps he would be too self-conscious or think it too ungentlemanly to ask her for it directly. The fact that he had - that he trusted her enough to be honest about his desires - made her heart swell.

"I only mean that I would be ready," he said, mistaking her long silence, "not that you ha--"

"I want to," she interrupted. She smoothed his hair back from his forehead. "I want to so much."

She kissed him lovingly, her impatience of minutes ago now vanished. She wanted to do this for him, do it right, and her body seemed to understand. She made her way down his torso, teasing him with her lips, tongue, and teeth, listening to his quiet moans and words.

When she reached his cock, she stroked it with her hand and kissed the head, pressing her tongue to the slit. She looked up at Jack to see that he had closed his eyes and was gripping the headboard in his hands.

"Watch me, Jack," she said.

His eyelids opened to half-mast, and he groaned from deep in his chest when she lowered her mouth over him as far as she could go. She had wanted this for a long time, and she hummed her pleasure at the weight and taste of him. She slid the fingers of her free hand under his sac and held it as she gently massaged it with her thumb.

Jack's hips began to move in rhythm with her mouth and hands, and he reached down to cup her face.

"Phryne, you have... you have to stop," he gasped.

"What's wrong?"

"I'm going to come."

"I think that's the point, my darling," she smiled.

"No, but..." He swallowed and was obviously trying to control his breathing. "You wanted... and I can't..."

"This is what I want," she said, and she sucked him back into her mouth, massaging him with firm strokes of her tongue.

Jack's body stiffened, he cried out, and Phryne swallowed the spurts of his release as they hit the back of her throat. She had tasted Jack's mouth and the sweat on his skin and her own flavor on his lips and tongue, but she had not yet tasted this, the essence of his pleasure. She carefully slid him out of her mouth and licked her lips as she crawled up his body.

"I wanted to make love to you," he sighed, still breathless.

"You just did," she said. She kissed him and moaned when she felt his hand slide between her legs.

"Then I'll have to do it again."


	34. Incentive

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Fire_Sign, a little follow-up to her drabble [Spectacle](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8568646). Writing silly, fluffy smut helps me feel better.

Smiling, Phryne slid off his lap and perched on the space he had cleared on her desk. She found herself perfectly content to watch him in his quiet concentration - not that Jack was ever quiet, even in silence. His eyes alone always seemed to be saying something, usually joined in conversation by small shifts in the lines of his face, or tapping fingers, or a subtle tilt of his head just so. She watched the movement of the veins in his hand as he signed his name at the bottom of a report. He laid the paper aside and looked up at her with those clear eyes of his. A smile played on his mouth.

"That's one finished," he said. His eyes fell to the sash of her robe, which was clearly the only item of clothing she had to remove.

She extended her arms and loosened his tie, sliding it slowly from his collar, wrapping it around one of her hands, and rubbing the silky material between her fingers.

"Not fair," he grumbled.

"I never said whose clothing I'd be removing, my sweet man. I find that this serves the purpose, don't you? You really would be too distracted if I were naked, and I need something to keep me occupied, and you will eventually want to be rid of all these layers."

"You've put a great deal of thought into this."

"I am always thinking of the most efficient way to get you inside me."

"Phryne," he groaned, reaching for her sash.

She pushed his hand back to the papers. "All in good time, darling."

She could have sworn that Jack was sulking as he lowered his head once more to his work. His tongue darted out to wet his lips, and she heard a soft, longing sound escape her.

"This was your idea," he reminded her.

"A terrible one."

"Hmmm."

Phryne hopped off the desk and wandered into the library for distraction. After a few minutes, he called her back.

"Another one done," he said.

She insinuated herself once more in his lap and set about unbuttoning his waistcoat. Their mouths met in the middle as she pushed the garment back from his shoulders.

"Oh, Jack, please hurry," she begged. "I need you."

He cursed and glanced at the door. "Close it."

She grinned and moved fast as lightning to close and lock the door, practically jumping on him when she returned to straddle his lap. Their hands tangled between them in the rush to move fabric aside, deal with buttons, and align the necessary parts.

"Temptress," he moaned as she sank onto his cock.

She leaned in to bite his ear. " _You_ seduced _me_."

"With what, writing?"

"Glasses."

"Glasses--? Fuck, Phryne, do that again."

She ground her hips in forceful circles against him, stimulating both of them. "I warned you about those glasses," she said breathlessly. "Did you forget?"

"Nnnn-no."

By some mutual agreement, they found themselves on the floor, and Jack met her impatient rhythm with hard thrusts of his own. Her hands on his back, Phryne curled her fingers into the thin material of his singlet.

"Want your skin," she demanded.

"Did I finish enough work to take this off?"

She growled and clenched her inner muscles around him, and he paused so they could pull off the garment. After that, it required the exertion of only a few more minutes to find them spent, satisfied and panting.

Jack's glasses were partially fogged and dotted with drops of sweat, and Phryne laughed. She reached up, removed them, and laid them aside on the floor before tugging his face down to hers to kiss it.

"See? I wasn't a distraction," she said.

"'I can see yet without spectacles and I see no such matter,'" he replied with a wry smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jack is quoting Benedick from _Much Ado About Nothing_ at the end.


	35. At Length

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the devil-spawn of two prompts I couldn't resist:
> 
> 1) The "And so Jack did, at length" prompt on Tumblr, which I loved because "at length" has two meanings: _finally_ and _thoroughly_. I used both. The unofficial connotation of "at length" I leave to your own imagination.
> 
> 2) In the comments to Fire_Sign's [Grasping at Shadows](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12531968/chapters/28538516), I said, "I don't think I'll ever forget the image of Jack, naked on the floor, searching for a note." And Fire_Sign, knowing the unearthly power she has over me, replied: "I bet you could, say, ALSO write a fic of Jack naked and on his knees that could replace the sadness of the note." So I did.
> 
> Have you ever seen so much prologue to such a short bit o' nothing?!

Jack muttered a curse as he shuffled, naked, on the floor in the pre-dawn darkness that filtered into his bedroom. He couldn't bear to leave his things in such disarray before dressing and leaving for work, and he also didn't want to disturb Phryne by turning on any lights. Thus, the situation in which he now found himself.

The sheets rustled, and he stilled. Silence.

He resumed his search. Phryne's garter, which he left for her. One of his socks, which he added to the items gathered in the crook of his elbow.

He saw one of his cufflinks just under the bed, and as he reached for it, a cool foot slid over the round of his shoulder. He sat back on his heels to see Phryne swinging her other leg out from the sheets and draping it over the side of the bed.

Well, it would be rude to turn down an invitation.

He dropped the things he had so carefully gathered, grasped her hips, and shifted her closer.

"Good morning, Jack," she sighed as he kissed his way up her inner thigh. "I love when you do that."

And so Jack did, at length.

He kissed her thighs until the wetness from his lips and tongue was replaced by the heady-smelling slickness of her arousal. Her fingers pulled at his hair, and she used her legs to draw him closer to her center, locking him there when she finally had him.

A hint of the rising sunlight gave him more of her to see, and he looked his fill as he licked and caressed and sucked her.

After she had cried out his name and relaxed in his arms, she reached for him to join her in the bed.

Jack gave a rueful smile. "I have to go to work..."

And so Jack did.

At length.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all would make so much fun of me if you knew how much it bothers me that this chapter title is the first one that's more than one word.


	36. Assertive

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some assertive Jack for Fire_Sign. :-*
> 
> I was in a bad mood today because... well, you've heard about my new president, I'm sure.

"Another one for the books," Jack sighed, closing the case file in front of him.

Tired, Phryne nodded. It was near midnight, and the station was almost deserted. "Quite a show, though," she smiled, "when you were giving out those orders left and right."

Jack quirked an eyebrow at her. "Oh yes?"

"Mmhmm. I found it incredibly... moving. I like you that way. Assertive. Commanding."

"Prove it."

Her eyelashes lowered slowly, then curved back up to reveal sparkling eyes. "I beg your pardon?"

He walked around the desk to stand in front of her. "Prove it. Suck my cock."

His heart hammered, and his brain shouted, _"Too far, too far!"_

But Phryne's gaze was perfectly even as she reached down between them to finger his belt.

"Should I close the door, Inspector, or do you want people to see me on my knees for you?" she asked, her voice soft and low-pitched.

"Close it. Lock it."

She did so and returned to him, her eyes on his mouth as she unbuttoned his trousers and reached in past the flap of his union suit to pull him out. She smiled up at him as she stroked him, almost daring him to issue his next command.

With a hand on her shoulder, he pushed her down to her knees. "I said I wanted your mouth, Miss Fisher."

"Here?" she asked, kissing down the side of his shaft. "Is this how you want it?"

"Damn it, Phryne," he replied hoarsely. He reached for the edge of his desk and braced himself with one hand. She was going to make him ask for - no, demand - what he wanted, and he suddenly felt years of inhibition, still present (if kept at bay) after many delightful months of making love to Phryne Fisher, rising up into his throat. That, combined with the pleasure of even the lightest touches of her lips, and his brain was more than a little compromised.

Phryne circled the tip of him with her tongue. "Or like this?"

"Put me in your mouth," he said. "Take me deep."

She obeyed, humming as she slid her lips and tongue down his length.

"Suck me." He exhaled shakily. "Y-yes, just like that. Keep doing that, Phryne, please..." He realized that he had shifted from demanding to begging, so he marshaled his wits. "Hard and deep, Phryne. The faster you finish me, the faster I can lay you on my desk and put my mouth on you. Don't you want that?" Her response was a moan that vibrated up and down his cock. "Do that again if you want me to come in your mouth."

She did - and he did.

Jack sagged back against the edge of his desk while Phryne wiped the corners of her mouth with her thumb and forefinger.

"Inspector," she cooed, rising and pressing her body against his. "I'm the one who's supposed to be on the desk."

He grasped her hips and spun her around, and they both laughed as he began rucking up her skirt. His fingers encountered wetness not far above her knees.

"Jesus, Phryne."

"I told you I found it moving," she said, licking her lips. "Now, get to work."


	37. Scarlet

A red mouth, one tapered end curved up just so. 

The possibilities for that mouth - the lips, the teeth, the tongue. The sheen of saliva and the smudge of crimson wax on skin.

A full smile now, teeth nudging the bottom lip. 

The tongue sliding from corner to corner.

Wet.

"Have you had your fun?" Jack asks. "I feel ridiculous."

Phryne sets the tube of lipstick aside and prepares to pounce.

He has no idea.


	38. Impulse

When Jack wakes up for the first time with Phryne in his arms, she is propped on one elbow, watching him as her fingertips draw patterns on his chest. He can hear the light patter of rain on the London streets. It is dark outside.

"What are you doing?" he mumbles.

"Enjoying you," she says. She strokes his mussed hair back from his forehead. "I spent ages wanting to touch you, and now I can."

He smiles. "Don't waste the impulse while I'm asleep. I want to enjoy every minute of it until you get tired of it."

"Who says I'll get tired of it?" she asks, her hand wandering over his belly and beneath the sheet. He sucks in a breath, and she kisses his jaw. "I want you so badly. Please, Jack."

He rolls her onto her back. "I have nowhere else to be," he says.


	39. Mine

She turns her head slightly on the edge of her bathtub at the quiet sound of her bedroom door opening and closing. Moments later, Jack appears around the edge of her screen, and she reaches for his hand.

"There you are," she says, giving him a tired, happy smile. It had been a long and difficult day for both of them. "My Jack."

He kneels beside the tub and cradles her head in his hand. "I love when you call me that."

"My Jack," she whispers just before his lips touch hers. When they part, faces still close, she trails her fingers down the side of his face. "You love being mine." He hums an affirmative. "But you never call me yours."

"I don't think of you that way. It would feel wrong - as if I were trying to possess you."

"That's not what it means when I say it," she points out. She kisses his top lip. "My very own Jack." He hesitates, and she kisses him again. "Try it. See how it feels to say I'm yours."

"Are you?" he asks. "Are you mine? Because I rather feel that you are entirely your own."

"Oh, I am," she agrees, "just as you are entirely your own when I call you mine." She fingers the knot of his tie, and he takes her hand and turns the palm up for a kiss. "Jack?"

"Hmm?"

"Is it because you thought I would hate it? That it would offend me or scare me away?"

"That's part of it. I know how others have treated you, and I know you," he says. He never lies to her, and she loves that about him.

She traces his lips with her finger. "If it makes you uncomfortable, don't say it. But if you want to say it..." Her gaze shifts from his mouth to his eyes, which are trained on her, soft and dark. "If you want to say it, I want to hear it."

She rises from the cooling water of the tub, and Jack stands ready with her towel. While she dries herself and attends to her toilette, he undresses and lays his clothes neatly aside. They rejoin in the bed, mouths eager, legs entwined.

When she holds herself over him and joins their bodies, pinning his hands to the bed as she rides him, he says, "Phryne... my - my Phryne."

"Yes, Jack," she breathes. "Yes. Yours."

She is his to love - and it means belonging only to herself.


	40. Scattered

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got the prompt "Let's create a crime scene!" from TeaandBanjo a couple of months ago, and after enduring a whole, _entire_ day with no new fic (sob), this was the result.

"It doesn't make sense," Jack mused, unknotting his tie. "If the motive was robbery, why were valuables scattered across the floor? I don't have your keen eye for jewels, but I know I saw diamonds."

"Mmhmm." Phryne rolled her stockings down and flung them aside on the bed, then stood to start work on Jack's buttons.

"Unless they were looking for a document, but the dresser drawers weren't even disturbed, as far as I can tell." He frowned down at her busy fingers, lost in thought.

Phryne pushed his braces aside and pulled his shirtsleeves up from his trousers. "Heat of passion, Jack?"

"A fight? Perhaps. But that still doesn't explain why..."

He broke off as Phryne suddenly swept her arm over the bed, sending everything - her clothes for the day, the clothes she had tried on and rejected as her clothes for the day, shoes, and accessories - flying. "I want you now, Jack. I can't wait any longer."

After a beat, he said, "Oh... And that would be why... Yes..."

She stepped close to him again and traced a finger down the side of his face. "Jack? I wasn't merely demonstrating my theory about the crime scene." Her slender hand slid into the front of his trousers, and his attention immediately, completely belonged to her.

"Oh?" His jaw slackened. "Oh!"

"I'm going to need you to be a lot more nimble than this," she said softly, nipping his lip, "for how hard and fast I want y---"


	41. Boring

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes it helps to _use_ whatever hangups are giving you writer's block, which is why this drabble exists.

"Mmmm," Phryne sighed as Jack pushed inside her and stilled, his weight on his forearms, his lips on her shoulder. She draped her arms back over her head, tangling her fingers into his. "Oh, that's good, Jack." 

Their lovemaking had been nice from the beginning, a little over two weeks ago, and each time seemed impossibly better than the last.

"Do you want to change the position? Should I try something new?"

She opened her eyes. "What's wrong with this?"

"Nothing. Nothing at all. I just..." He huffed a short laugh against her skin. "I just don't want to be boring."

Phryne stroked her foot against his thigh and grinned up at him. "I think I can say with some degree of certainty that I will never be bored with you inside me."

"You would tell me, though, wouldn't you, if you needed something different? Something more? I know I don't have the experience some do--"

"Jack?"

"Hmmm?"

"I need something more right now. I need you to move."

They laughed, and she squeezed her muscles around him, and his fretting was at an end.


End file.
